Ravenscliffe

by Jane Sanderson

  Anna said: ‘Things never pipe down in Russia.’

  ‘Still, though,’ said Henrietta, ‘I don’t suppose it’s always quite as alarming as it is at the moment. No need to take unnecessary risks.’

  Mrs Powell-Hughes, who didn’t have the first idea what they were talking about – show her a housekeeper with time to read the newspapers and she would show you a housekeeper who wasn’t doing her job – said: ‘Don’t the girls look lovely,’ and the three of them turned their attention to Eliza, Ellen and Maya, who were prettily handing out further titbits, though it was hard to know who was going to manage any more. Eliza privately thought this wedding a bit of a disappointment, though she was careful not to show it in her face. She was happy for Anna and Amos, but unhappy for herself. There were few enough chances in life to shine in front of a captive audience and yet she had been required only to sit patiently in the town hall and then take Anna’s flowers from her when the time came to put on the wedding ring. She was beginning to think direct action might be needed on her part and she wondered if she might ask for dance classes. She had seen a sign in Barnsley when she went with her mam to see the new shop: it hung above the high windows of an old cotton mill. Mademoiselle Evangeline’s School of Dance, it said. All levels, beginners welcome. Eliza had felt an immediate connection with Mademoiselle Evangeline, even without clapping eyes on her. She was sure that within those austere and unlikely walls lay her destiny. She made a graceful pirouette at the thought of it, and the blinis she carried spun off the plate. Amos’s friend Enoch bent down with her to help collect them up again.

  ‘Pop ’em back on t’plate,’ he said. ‘Nob’dy’ll be any t’wiser. Nowt wrong wi’ a bit o’ muck.’ He winked at her and she smiled.

  ‘You ’ave one, then,’ she said, and he laughed and took one from her. ‘Now then, ’ere’s Lady ’enrietta, see if she’d like one an’ all.’

  Eliza held out the plate to Henrietta but felt compelled in the presence of grandness to confess. ‘They’ve been on t’grass, your ladyship,’ she said, dipping into a little curtsey, and Henrietta said, ‘In that case I’ll have two,’ so everyone laughed. Eliza moved on, collecting smiles, spreading happiness. Henrietta turned to Enoch.

  ‘I think you’ve been very discreet, Mr Wadsworth,’ she said.

  He blinked at her from behind his round lenses.

  ‘In what way?’ he said.

  ‘You don’t seem to have breathed a word to anyone,’ she said. ‘Unless they all know and are waiting until I leave to poke fun.’

  He shook his head. ‘Nowt funny about it, your ladyship. I admire you, if you really want to know. Not many ladies of your social standing spare a thought for owt beyond their social calendar.’

  ‘Harsh, yet probably true,’ she said. ‘Well, anyway, I’m grateful to you. Not that it’s a secret, of course …’

  ‘But neither is it common knowledge. Understood.’ He tapped the side of his bony nose.

  ‘Look at those two. Thick as thieves,’ Amos said. He and Eve were standing together a little distance away from the main gathering. Amos looked grand, Eve thought: statesmanlike in his tailored suit, and glowing with pride and pleasure. Constantly his eyes sought out Anna, as if he was making sure she was real.

  ‘It’s that vodka,’ Eve said. ‘Unless they actually know each other. Do they?’

  ‘Doubt it. Mind you, Enoch’ll talk to anybody.’

  Eve smiled. ‘Bet you never thought you’d ’ave t’Countess of Netherwood and ’er sister-in-law at your wedding.’

  This was risky, but he took it well.

  ‘Aye, rum do,’ he said. ‘But what’s to be done? Anna likes ’em, they like ’er. Thing is, she sees no difference. I look at ’em and see nowt but privilege, whereas Anna, she’s more open, like.’

  ‘Well, it’s a changing world, Amos.’

  ‘Aye well, it can’t change fast enough for me.’

  For a while, they were silent. Then Amos looked at her and said: ‘You made t’right choice y’know. For me, and for you.’

  ‘I think I did, though I was sorry to ’urt you.’

  He nodded, acknowledging the hurt: no point pretending otherwise, when it had been so plain to see at the time.

  ‘Now, though, I feel blessed,’ he said. They both looked at Anna, who was laughing with Seth, holding the back door open for him as he crept with extravagant care into the garden bearing a large platter of pineapple pieces – his own, the first harvest.

  ‘You are blessed,’ Eve said. ‘You both are.’

  ‘Get on with you,’ Amos said. ‘You’ll ’ave me in tears.’

  The time to leave was drawing near and Anna withdrew from the party, responding to an emotional pull from the house that she no longer tried to resist. She had never shied from change, and she didn’t now, but her assertion to Amos, oft repeated, that she would be happy with him anywhere had been as much to convince herself as to reassure him. She felt assaulted by conflicting emotions. Excitement, happiness, sorrow, gratitude, anxiety: all these feelings fought for precedence and she felt worn down by them. Life would seem simpler, she thought, when they left. Some little distance was required for a clearer head. She and Amos had planned four nights in London – Maya was to stay here – and then they would begin a six-month let on a sturdy Victorian villa in Ardington, from where they would be well placed to campaign when a general election was called. This, Anna longed for. The by-election had given her a taste for the fight. Webster Thorne, she thought, should be quaking in his boots.

  She had packed earlier, before the wedding, and open on the bed was her small suitcase: brown leather, scuffed at its corners, scarred by former travels. It had once belonged to her father and she was certain that when he had flung it at her, telling her to take her things and not return, he hadn’t intended it as a farewell gift. Nevertheless, she was pleased she had it because it was all she had now from her Russian past: this, and a collection of memories of variable and dubious clarity. When she thought about her life in Kiev, which was rarely, it was as if she looked at events through a window of frosty glass, the images blurred and distorted through patterns of ice. She hadn’t really meant what she said to Mrs Powell-Hughes about wanting to go back. That was just the borscht and the blinis and – doubtless – the vodka, taking her to a time when she’d thought there were no limits to her parents’ love. She was glad, though, that their blind prejudice had forced her away: glad, too, that she’d loved Leo and that he’d known the joy of Maya before he died. Through another person’s eyes, perhaps, her recent life might appear dragged down by turmoil and tragedy, but she saw it differently. She had never wished for a settled existence. Her parents had expected her to marry a merchant’s son: to grow fat and complacent and, ultimately, unhappy, as they had. But her girlhood dreams, vivid and startling, were always of escape: birds freed from nets, butterflies released from jars, a dancing black bear breaking free from its shackles. And in the end, she had fled too. Now she stood on the brink of change once more, and this new turning in the road was simply another stage of the same journey: the adventure, continued. This was how she looked at life.

  She moved over to the bed and closed the case, snapping the brass clasps to secure it. A tap at the door and Eve came in. She smiled.

  ‘You look serious,’ she said.

  ‘Serious business.’

  ‘Right enough. Can I ’elp?’

  Eve indicated the suitcase, but Anna shook her head.

  ‘All done.’

  ‘Good,’ Eve said.

  They looked at each other.

  ‘You’ll come and visit? Stay sometimes?’

  ‘Of course. A lot, if Maya has say in it.’

  ‘And Ardington isn’t far, is it? Two stops on t’train.’

  Anna nodded. Two stops on the train. How often had they repeated that to each other?

  ‘And with t’new shop in Barnsley—’

  ‘—we’ll see each other often.’

  There. They e
ven finished each other’s sentences, so eager was each to convince the other and so frequently had they tried. Then, as they stood swapping smiles of reassurance and encouragement, Eve gave up the fight and began to cry. One of them had to, because just as this was the beginning of something, so it was also an ending, and this had to be acknowledged, respected, honoured. Anna rushed across the room, wrapped her arms around Eve and gave way to tears too, and for a while they abandoned themselves to their sorrow like Ellen and Maya, luxuriating in the relief of it.

  When the tears abated, they clung to each other for a little longer and then sat down on the edge of Anna’s single bed feeling limp and weary. Eve looked at Anna and laughed.

  ‘Look at t’state o’ you. What’s Amos going to think?’

  ‘If I look as bad as you, he’ll wonder why he married me.’

  ‘Not likely. I’ve never seen a man more smitten.’

  ‘Daniel?’

  ‘As smitten, maybe. Not more smitten.’

  They smiled. Eve pulled a handkerchief from a pocket of her skirt and blew her nose, then offered it to Anna, who did the same.

  ‘Remember, won’t you, that you always have a home here? This house is yours as much as mine. In fact, if it wasn’t for you, Blandford would have turfed us all out at t’end of t’tenancy.’

  ‘I think even he couldn’t have argued with another twelve months’ rent in cash,’ Anna said.

  ‘You don’t know ’ow much ’e loathes me. I think loathing me is what gets ’im out of bed every morning.’

  Anna laughed.

  Eve said, ‘It’s not right though, Anna, that you’re leaving. Ravenscliffe was your idea, remember?’ She switched into Anna’s accent, pitch perfect: ‘Kitchen big enough to dance polka.’

  Anna gave her a shove. ‘And so it is,’ she said. ‘When you’re out at work, that’s what I do.’

  ‘Ah, that’s why t’washing never gets done,’ Eve said.

  They leaned in to each other, propping one another up, and were quiet for a little while. The sounds of conversation and laughter drifted up from the garden. They should go downstairs, Eve thought, before they were missed. But when she spoke, what she said was: ‘Look. About Silas.’

  Anna nodded, understanding Eve’s impulse. He was always between them these days; the only subject they had ever failed to see eye to eye on, the only thing they hadn’t ever been able to discuss. Could they be friends, Eve asked now, her voice fragile with tremulous hope. Anna, gentle but direct, said she didn’t think that was very likely. They were too different, she said: Silas felt the same, she was sure of it. And how could she set aside her own qualms, now that she was married to Amos?

  ‘No, I know,’ Eve said. ‘It’s not easy. But if everybody could just try …’

  ‘Perhaps if Silas could relent, and give Edward Wakefield his job back?’

  ‘Perhaps if Amos could apologise fully to Silas?’

  ‘Perhaps if pigs could fly across Netherwood Common?’

  They laughed, but ruefully.

  ‘Y’know, Silas really isn’t all bad,’ Eve said.

  Anna shrugged. ‘Perhaps not. But neither is he all good.’

  ‘No, ’appen not. But he’s my brother. To ’ave ’im back means a lot to me.’

  ‘I know this,’ Anna said. ‘And I don’t belittle it. But you must just accept that Silas means different things to you and me and Amos.’

  Eve looked troubled, melancholy. Watching her, Anna wished she could say what Eve wanted to hear. She sought for something else instead, some other kind of solace to offer.

  ‘Eve,’ she said. ‘This must never, ever come between us.’

  Here was something they could hold on to.

  ‘Never,’ Eve said. She took Anna’s hand and clasped it vehemently in her own, keeping it there for a moment. Then she released it and smiled, though a little too brightly. She doesn’t believe, Anna thought, and she, too, was wondering – behind her smile – if their friendship would survive the influence of Silas Whittam. Between Eve’s blindness and Amos’s hatred lay an ocean of potential for grievous harm.

  ‘Come on,’ Eve said then. ‘You’ve got an ’usband waiting downstairs. Best be off.’

  They both stood. There was a lingering awkwardness between them still, a sense of a difficulty unresolved. Time, perhaps, would erase it. Certainly, time would tell.

  ‘Leave that suitcase,’ Eve said. ‘Seth’ll fetch it. I know ’e’d like to.’

  ‘What did you think of his pineapple?’ Anna said. Eve wrinkled her nose, dropped her voice. ‘Awful,’ she said and suddenly they were laughing again, rocking silently with shared mirth because the fruit really had been dreadful: under-ripe, woody, quite without flavour. Daniel had tried to dissuade the boy from presenting it, promising a better crop next year, but there was no telling Seth anything, once his mind was set. Still, thought Eve as they walked downstairs together now in good spirits, the pineapple had done them a favour in the end.

  Chapter 59

  September passed, October and November followed in rapid pursuit. Parkinson wondered aloud where the time was going, so swiftly did the days spin by. It’s because we’re so busy, Mrs Powell-Hughes told him, it’s because the work never ceases, and she was right. The house was alive with comings and goings; as one set of guests left with merry farewells, others would arrive with boisterous hellos. When the dowager countess left for Denbigh Court in September – taking Isabella with her and therefore, unavoidably, Bryony too, to whom Tobias had given, unkindly, the nickname Barnacle – the young Lord and Lady Netherwood had flung open the great doors of Netherwood Hall as if her absence was all they’d been waiting for. There followed a near-constant stream of visitors. The speed trials in early September – ‘A triumph,’ said Parkinson gloomily, ‘if only in the sense that no one died’ – brought forty guests to the house, and twenty-five motorcars to the stable yard. For two days no one was safe on the avenues, since when contestants weren’t racing, they were practising, and there was no peace to be had until it was all over. Wally Goldman took the title in his Ford Model A, managing an average speed of twenty miles an hour, even accounting for a couple of hair-raising bends where the avenue met the lane. Tobias, in a Daimler Wagonette de Luxe, had to settle for second place and Thea, in a brand new Daimler Phaeton, came fifth overall, and was crowned motoring queen at the last-night banquet. There were riotous scenes when the chair she sat in was lifted high by four young men and carried in a lap of honour round the table. Parkinson spent more time in the cellars fetching wine than he did in the dining room. Henrietta began to feel old.

  There followed, in the subsequent weeks, four shooting parties, a point-to-point, and a fancy-dress ball, the theme of which was The Hunt: all the ladies were foxes, all the gentlemen were hounds or masters of the hunt. The chase – a wild careen through the ground-floor rooms of the house – ended when the foxes had all been caught and corralled in the library. Three of the hounds went too far and had their foxes pinned to the floor as if they really did intend to tear them limb from limb, so Tobias, magnificent in white breeches and red jacket, clambered onto the Chippendale library table in his riding boots and gave a blast on his huntsman’s horn to break things up. Footmen watched with impassive faces. The ladies were saved but the Chippendale table was not.

  More and more, Henrietta absented herself from these hedonistic entertainments and even Dickie, who was game for most things, declared them ‘a bit much’ and took himself off to the Italian Riviera with an old school chum. Thea and Toby reigned supreme in the palace of high jinks. Henrietta remembered with fondness the days when a dinner party would conclude with cards and music in the drawing room, and no one wished for anything more. She was no prude, but wantonness and impropriety in private was one thing: in public, quite another. And yet the boundaries of what was and wasn’t acceptable were being constantly pushed, as if a life lived quietly was no life at all. Henrietta, increasingly drawn by her high-minded and earnest suffragist fr
iends, found herself less and less dependent on the attentions of Thea. Thea, in turn, filled her empty hours by planning party after party as autumn turned into winter, the pinnacle of which was a Fireworks Spectacular – her response to a startlingly persuasive plea from the head gardener that the Grand Canal should be officially opened in some way commensurate with its grandeur. Daniel had requested a meeting, not in the morning room where generations of countesses had always conducted their business, but by the side of the canal itself from where he had invited her to join him on the farthest stepping stone, this being the vantage point from which the water looked its most dramatic.

  ‘What you have here, your ladyship, is the largest uninterrupted stretch of water of any private garden in the kingdom,’ he had said. ‘Just be still for a few moments and consider this fact.’

  His tone wasn’t quite that of gardener to countess, but Thea’s sense of social superiority was not what it would have been had she been born to this life. She still had a habit of smiling at the footmen and asking them how they were, and she had asked her new lady’s maid to call her Thea (which the maid declined to do – the very idea made her feel faint). So, standing there on the square grey stone, she had taken no offence at the slight reprimand in Daniel MacLeod’s voice and had done as she was bid. She gazed out across the water and as she did so she felt she looked at the canal for the first time, though of course no one could fail to miss it. It lay there before her, magnificent, glassy and reproachful, and she had turned to Daniel and said: ‘Fireworks, do you think?’ which was, of course, the perfect answer.

  So fireworks it was, and such fireworks that the county had never seen. Locals gathered on Harley Hill and Netherwood Common to watch the spectacle from a distance. Pyrotechnicians came and arranged their wares around the water’s perimeter, sending thousands of pounds’ worth of explosives squealing into the black winter sky, releasing red, blue and white lights above the vast mirror of the canal. Afterwards, on the main terrace, kitchen staff – noses blue with cold – served beef bouillon in enamel mugs, hot baked potatoes with butter, and toffee apples. Thea, mastermind of the whole affair, felt heady and powerful with the success of it. She sought out Toby and tilted her face up to his. She knew she looked adorable, cheeks rosy with the cold air and the hot broth. With her eyes on his, her fingers found the buttons of his greatcoat and she opened them then snuggled into the folds of the coat with him. He stooped to kiss her.